Trainwreck
by SpoonyChan
Summary: I guess you could say it’s this unending “hatred” that seemed to form as we locked eyes, but that can’t be it. People who hate each other avoid each other. Zexion POV, AU, AkuZeku.


I never really thought about it before. Axel and I…and that _thing_ we share between us. I guess you could say it's this unending "hatred" that seemed to form as we locked eyes, but that can't be it. People who hate each other avoid each other.

However, no matter how many times I tell myself I'm never going to see him again, there I am making my way back to his place.

He's a challenge. I guess you could say I am to him as well – we both like to read people, but Axel…God, he's just so unpredictable. I thought he was just some cold-hearted moron that just so happened to be good in bed (don't get me wrong – he can be), but he isn't. He's not just another pretty face. Not just another good fuck. He's Axel.

He's probably the first person I knew for only a few hours, and by then he already knew me. Sure, I like books, but I haven't read them enough to turn into one. I'm the opposite, but he opened me up and read me like a book in only a few hours. That scared me yet fascinated me all the same. His surprising intellectuality is what got our…I guess "relationship" going.

That was the first time I ever found myself in a bar. I didn't drink anything then of course – I told myself I was too young. I kept going back to the bar just to see Axel. He hardly ever drank – he said he didn't like waking up to a sore ass.

At some point, he saw the cuts across my wrists. Can't say I'm the happiest kid on the block, and I like pain. Sometimes I just do it because I'm bored and love the burning sensation I get…or maybe I like the attention?

No, what am I talking about? I _hate _the attention. I hate it when people ask me why I'm wearing long sleeves in the summer and when people actually find my cuts and question me. Some people scream. Some people cry.

Axel just looked for a moment, disinterested. He shrugged, laughed, and dropped the wrist. "Thought so" I believe is what he murmured.

That was it – he had me. I hated how he was so far ahead of me, so far _into _me. He was _winning_ and I seriously didn't like the feeling of having someone know everything about me, especially when I hardly ever said anything to said person and I hardly knew _anything_ about them.

It's stupid, but I got depressed. I felt like the world's biggest idiot for not knowing anything about _Axel _so I went off and got depressed.

I'm pretty sure that's the week I started drinking at the bar. Axel noticed too. I told him Luxord dared me, but I'm pretty sure he knew it was a lie. I lost count after three or four shots. That's when the liquor got the better of me and had a mind of its own.

It was a wonderful feeling. Too bad I hardly remember. The more I think about it though, the more I remember…and all I remember seems to revolve around Axel and this fiery, incredible _wanting_ of him. I remember feeling his acidic eyes watching me half-interestedly as I nipped at his collarbone playfully and my knee grinded him between his nonchalantly spread thighs. I remember thinking in this new, giggly disposition that I had sounded the alarms when the blood rushed to my head and something hard collided with my chest.

I think Axel was carrying me. I thought it was some kind of fair ride as I snickered and snorted, completely wasted into a complete idiot. When the ride came to a stop and I tumbled onto the bed with a squeal, I must've dozed for a few moments, the sheets feeling twelve times as comfortable as they usually did…when I became incredibly fascinated in the bottom of my usual long-sleeve shirt. _Stripes_…I kept thinking as I chortled, _It has stripes! Heehee, my shirt's moving. It looks like it's stretching…heeheehee…_

I touched the stripes as they raced across my chest, colliding with each other as if in a train wreck, my thumbs pulling up the bottom of the tight-fitting shirt as I did so. Before I knew it I was pulling my sleeves off, my hands thumbing my button and zipper sloppily. _Up, down, diagonal…which way am I supposed to go again?_

I seriously don't remember the force of gravity. Everything felt heavy, but I don't know from where or toward where or however I'm supposed to describe that…but I found Axel's back somehow. He protested at first, but stayed still so I could rub my cheek against his leather jacketed back…I liked the texture.

He complained about the constant, soft giggle fits I erupted in, and the stench of alcohol on me, eventually pushing me into hot water and steam…yeah, a shower. A bit of my loftiness washed off my body and down the drain in that long shower and I could finally think straight again. I groaned huffily through my nose when he told me to wait for him as soon as I got back, collapsing on the bed. In his reappearance, he tried to push the hair out of my eyes, but I growled and told him to stop. I don't like people seeing my face, especially during sex. I know I have to make the most ridiculous expressions…but he simply pinned my bangs up, agreeing with me with his words but not his actions. I talked with my not-so-specialized, two-eyed glare.

I ran a hand over his abdomen once his body was over mine, unclothed. _Fuck_ he was skinny. I scowled and asked him if he ever ate. Something like that. He asked me something along the lines of me and kids' meals. Yeah, I didn't make a sound after that.

Well, I did actually…as Axel teased me afterwards, I was fucking loud.

First, I sighed against his warm lips. I was typically cold natured, but his entire body in every way seemed to fill me to the brim with warmth. His lips were just the start, so variably flavored and _different_…

He kissed me for a while, although I could sense his own impatience. His eyelashes kept brushing open against my face, his eyes checking me briefly for a sign of wanting. I eventually lost this sight he kept looking for purposefully just to see exactly what _he _wanted. This was _perfect_. I could get ahead of him this way, or at least rise to his level when it came to knowing each other.

Heh, yeah right.

I studied him, my head slightly cocked as he slipped his fingers into me. He noticed my eyes on his head of bushy red hair, shifting uncomfortably under the attention. He must've known I was figuring out more about him some way. I would've smirked, but he found that particular silky spot and I twitched, my throat vibrating. I rolled my hips toward the fingers vehemently, helping him rub at that sensitive area.

He asked if I was ready, but I was hardly there. I felt like I was drunk all over again, rolling my hips into the three fingers in response, so he entered and my body was overcome with shivers. Regardless, I resumed my observation of him once again.

All I could see was him figuring more and more about me as he carefully made his way, far too slow for my liking. Axel was as tall as a tree – sex with him _had_ to hurt. I didn't like him not utilizing his body, so I snapped at him to move faster, in time with my fervent movements. He raised an eyebrow at me, "pffff"'d at me, and fucking sped himself up nearly tenfold. I knew he had it in him. I just knew it.

If there was anything I hated more than being looked at during sex (heh, hypocritical of me I know), it was talking. Sex wasn't about words – it was about movements and if any words, they were names. Axel sensed this hatred in me somehow and began a nearly casual conversation with me. Of course I could hardly answer, him pushing inside me over and over, disrupting the normality of my speech. He was talking with me on purpose, just to annoy me. That jerk. I scowled at his grin, snarling.

He asked me about coming. Who would come first? Heh, I knew it had to be him. It was always that way. Besides, he was so big and I was so tight, it wasn't logical to have _me_ coming—

Godammit. I came _twice_ before he did. Bastard…

I woke up shortly once my insides were filled, finding myself in his lean arms. I pushed them off of me, took a quick shower, pulled my pants on and headed home.

…I left my striped shirt there.

On purpose.

My parents aren't idiots. They saw my shirt and how big it was on me. It wasn't my shirt – it was Axel's. I knew that, and I knew they would notice. I was sick of living with them anyway. I never got along with the narrow-minded.

Needless to say, they kicked me out. Actually I practically kicked myself out, stonily packing my vitals up in my tote bag as I listened to them assume, contradict, gripe, complain, nag –

_Enough_.

I explained to Axel how they found out about my escaping to the bar every night and how I used the fake ID the redhead himself constructed. I had his shirt and left mine, so I had to go back anyway. He bobbed his head understandably, letting me stay for a while.

God, I hate him so much. We're always at each other's throats about _everything_. I hate how short and sexy his eyebrows are and how whenever he quirks one up I can feel myself die a little inside. I hate how the more I feel the black fire burn inside me for him, that incredible malice, the closer he inches toward me just to wrap his thin fingers around my waist, smirk at me with those piercing malachite eyes, and capture my lips in his…then I lose track of time, place, and who I am anymore.

Someday I'll have to just accept that when it comes to Axel and I, "hate" is just the synonym for "love".


End file.
